HENCHMAN: revenge of 21
by oopspro
Summary: Biased 3 months after the events of Operation:prom, this story continues the adventure following henchman 21 as he comes back to the employ of the Monarch and continues his life as a henchman. He will settle his affairs and build a new life for himself. Will he get his revenge? Will Dr. Mrs. Monarch stop him? Will the Ventures show up and who is the mysterious Henchman?
1. Chapter 1

**HENCHMAN**

The Revenge of 21

[Author's note: This story takes place 3 months after the end of season 4 of the Venture Brothers TV show, titled 'Operation: Prom'. It takes place within the canon up to that point and follows my favorite character Henchman 21. If you haven't seen the show or the episode I would suggest that you do before you read this story as it has no recap of the story up to this point and the show is incredible. I am going to add in a character, somewhat, but this character works outside of canon but in an organic way. I hope that you enjoy it and I welcome all reviews and critiques.]

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or references from the Venture Brothers TV show. I use them for only the purposes of entertainment and refuse any type of payment or compensation for or in conjunction with this work. Any persons or group using this story for purposes other than personal entertainment are liable for their own actions.

In a Midwestern suburban neibourhood with small half acre houses and car lined streets, a man sat at a computer desk. One of the three flat screen monitors lit up with an alert message but he waits for his 'Warhammer' avatar to finish disemboweling his enemy before he acknowledged it. He calmly logged out, removed his multifunction headset, and hit a function key which started a program he designed specifically for this moment. Ominous music played as a keypad reveled itself; seeming to come from nowhere in the oak-paneled wall.

He stands there next to it and contemplated all that had led to this moment, and finally entered the painstakingly chosen four digit code [2124]. From yet another part of the wall a door slid silently open and a compartment came out with everything he would need on it. He took from them a yellow glove and slipped it on. He flexed his hand, listening to the familiar creaks of the material, and sighed.

"I'm ready," He thought to himself as he began to don the rest of the outfit that he designed.

"I guess the Revenge Society has been doing some recruiting." The Monarch commented to no one in particular, as he watched the black and red clad troops, no more than 6 total, tear through his minions with ease on a bee-line to his battle cocoon's command center over the monitor. He turned to his queen and whined, "I mean, where did Phantom Limb get these guys? Are they former Guild Blackguard or something?"

"I don't know; possibly?" Dr. Mrs. Monarch replied in her overly husky voice. She rested her cheek on her fist causing her breasts, already about to pop out of her deep V-neck outfit, to squeeze together and deepen her ample cleavage, "Phantom Limb was with the guild for a long time. He could have talked some of them over, and with the backing of someone like Richard Incredible, the benefits are probably worth it."

The Monarch raised his arms in outrage.

"You're not supposed to sympathize with our enemies! You're suppose to spit bile at them and make them rue the day; verbally." He spun his fingers in the air in-front of himself, "Not care about the state of their 401ᵏ."

One of the images on the many split screens around the command room showed one of his henchmen being torn open by a Revenge Society operative's knife obscuring the screen's image with the resulting blood spray.

The Monarch fell back into his throne and pouted, "Why can't I find henchmen like that?"

Several of the butterfly theme dressed henchmen looked up at him.

"You know what you are!" The Monarch scoffed at them, dismissing them with a gesture.

"You had one like that," His wife pointed out, "And let's face it since 21 quit..."

The Monarch's eyes lit up with the fires of hate, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a leer, and his freakishly long eyebrows quivered, "Don't even mention his name in my presence! That turn-coat doesn't deserve a name much less a number in the sacred halls of this battle cocoons! He shall never be forgiven for what he has done, and any who align themselves with him shall taste the deadly sting of the Monarch!"

She rolled her eyes, "Fine, Fine. But you can't deny that things have gotten kind of lax around here in the last couple of months. Even the Moppets haven't been able to whip things back into shape."

"True." The Monarch contemplated from deep in his throne. He thought of something and turned to his wife, "Where are those freaks anyway?"

"You have them out doing recon..." She started, "Uh-oh."

The Monarch once again leaned forward and gestured about the room at the henchmen at their consoles dressed in their butterfly-like outfits, "You mean to tell me that the only thing standing between us and certain death is this bunch of losers?"

"Well, more likely capture, torture, and then death, but... yeah."

The Monarch grabbed the edges of his throne, "We are so boned!"

"Mighty Monarch," one of the henchmen called from the consol, "The intruders have made their way into the outer corridor."

The Monarch grabbed his head, "Oh crap!"

A silence grew up in the room and laid down a blanket of tension that strangled and made them all sweat bullets. The rooms temperature rose quickly and noises could be heard from the other side of the main door. It would happen anytime soon. The Revenge Society would come through the door at any moment, kill all of the control staff, and then kill them or worse. The wait was unbearable but no one wanted to hasten it. Then the moment came, but it wasn't what they had expected.

One of the black and red henchmen burst through the door and crumpled to the floor. Three others lay on the ground in various forms of defeat as the last two standing battled feverishly with a third man. The combat was spectacular. The new combatant spun and dodged around the blows of the other two. If any of their attacks landed, it couldn't be seen. Blades flashed, only once, and both of the other two men fell before the mysterious third man. His massive form knelt before the control room platform; a knight in reverence to his king.

"Who the hell is that guy?" The Monarch squeaked to his queen.

Dr. Mrs. Monarch leaned forward and squinted her eyes scrutinizing the henchman before them a long time before tentatively answering, "21?"

A mummer went about the room, the number spoken in awed hushed tones. One by one the other henchmen rose to their feet and turned to their leader, the Monarch. He too rose.

"So the prodigal son has returned once again to the fold." The Monarch crossed his arms and walked to the edge of the platform so that he could stand over 21, "Tell me why I shouldn't just kill you right now."

"Besides the fact that he just saved our asses?" his wife threw in from where she sat.

"You're not helping, honey." The Monarch threw back from the corner of his mouth. He had meant to say more but he went blank as to something viscous and terrifying enough to make Henchman 21 wet his pants.

21 chose that moment to speak up with his eyes still on the ground, "Oh, mighty Monarch forgive me my trespasses. I know not anyway other than the life of a henchman. Please let me return to your service and make-up for what I have done."

The Monarch was taken aback, "Uh, okay."

21 stood up, his well toned form rippling like the tide, and immediately was surrounded by his fellow henchmen. Everyone wanted to speak with him and shake his hand. For the moment he forgot his anger and misgivings. He began to once again feel as though he truly belonged.

The Monarch spoke up again, over the henchmen, "21 go grab some wings and prep the other henchmen for our retaliation on the Revenge Society!"

21's eyes closed to slits under his goggled face, "I am wearing my wings, Monarch."

The Monarch raised his freakishly long eyebrow, "Where?"

21 stepped back from the crowd and pressed a button concealed in the palm of his left glove. From what looked like a metal backpack metal-framed high tension polymer wings folded out to their full length. They were sharp and not just in a design sense. Each of the wings' four panels came to a razor sharp point at the end.

"Wow" Dr. Mrs. Monarch commented under her breath.

The Monarch's arms fell back to his sides involuntary, "Where did you get those?"

"Designed and built them myself." 21 beamed proudly, pressing the concealed button again to show off the various elements of his new wings, "They are multifunctional battle wings. There are three settings: Fully expanded, with flight and glide capabilities, folded, which allows for better mobility while still allowing them to be used as an offensive or defensive weapon, and retracted, allowing them to be easily stored and carried. It also keeps the wearer from getting caught in doorways or tight spaces.

The design was simple, the real trick was finding a polymer thin but strong enough to take the necessary weight requirements to achieve full flight capabilities for even the largest of henchmen. This particular pair can function perfectly at up to 500lbs but can probably last out 1000lbs but I haven't had any reason to test it to that amount."

He retracted the wings for an added amount of flair and then he bowed, "By your leave, mighty Monarch."

"Go, go."

21 left and all of the control staff trailed behind him. When they were gone the Monarch crashed back into his throne; moping. He stewed in his hate for a minute then turned to his wife, "Did you see that? His costume is actually cooler than mine!"

His naturally whiney voice rose to ear splitting levels and seemed to draw two extra syllables out of the word 'mine'.

"I can't believe that he actually made those retractable wings." She replied, awestruck.

"I know, and did you see how in shape he was? If he hadn't have said anything I wouldn't have believed it." The Monarch continued in disbelief, "Zero percent body fat."

His wife sighed, "Thank God! I wasn't gonna say it but yeah he looked like a young Lou Farigno."

"The guy from the Incredible Hulk?"

"Yeah, he was the Hulk."

"Oh yeah, totally."

They sat in silence for a second, and then he snapped his head back to his wife and shrilly cried, "Wait! Were you checking him out?"

Dr. Mrs. Monarch rolled her eyes and chuffed, "See this is why I didn't want to say anything."

"What do you mean?"

"You're getting jealous."

The Monarch puffed out his chest, threw his chin in the air, and sucked in his gut, "The Monarch is never jealous!"

His wife simply rested her head on her hand and rolled her eyes, "Whatever."

Deep in the bowels of the cocoon shaped flying fortress, on the personnel level, 21 walked into his unchanged room. He ran his fingers along the desk. It wasn't even dusty. The other henchmen hadn't moved any of his things and had even cleaned it regularly in the anticipation of his return. It seemed to be the only thing that they had continued to do.

He sat down on the crisp, clean, freshly laundered sheets of the bed and leaned back against the cool metal of the bed alcove and thought to himself of all the times that he had done this after countless missions both in the old days with 24 and those that he lead himself. It was comforting to be back in these places. Despite everything else; he truly was home in some sick sense. He took one more moment to breathe in the familiar air and then shook off the nostalgia. There wasn't time for that kind of thinking. Much work was left to be done and he had been prepared these last few months for this. He couldn't let it all be unraveled by a few warm fuzzy feelings. It was time to set his plans in motion.

[Final comments: Honestly I never thought of myself as a writer, but I've found the mantle trust on to me. Till now the only opinions that I have gotten are those who are my friends and family, and, while I respect them, they are too close to me to give me a harsh opinion to help me develop my style in a way that is appealing to a wide audience.

Consequently before this idea became a story it was going to be a comic and I began to do some artwork for it which I will post to my account. I will add the link when I post them, for those who might be interested. I welcome all reviews to both the art and the story as I am working on a manuscript and this is a test of sorts.]


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

[Author's notes: This chapter will be much longer and it introduces more, older characters, and a new one; the legendary Henchman. Please continue to read and review. I know that I will be taking some leway with the characters and canon but I will explain these as I go along and believe me it all works out in the end. If I do happen to forget to explain something or it isn't explained well enough send me a message or put it in your review and I will gladly explain.

Of course, I still have no ownership of the Venture brothers or any related material.]

Almost a year before, nearby an undisclosed OSI location disguised as a regular golf course, a lone man dressed in black armor ran for his life from a mad group of assistants, helpers, and henchmen, or he thought he was. Unknown to him the chase had been called off by henchman 21 so that they could all return to their "normal" lives. This man had once been the Monarch's henchman 1, but he had taken the guise of Zero to capture and pit other henchmen against each other in combat for his amusement. He had been left behind by henchmen 21 and 24 as he fought for his life against Brock Samson on Spiderskull Island. Since then he had made his purpose the punishment of henchman 21 and other henchmen like him (the incompetent, the ill-prepared, and the arrogant) but he had been foiled by his enemy.

As he began to run through a patch of woods, dodging around trees and bushes, he realized that he no longer cared whither or not he was being chased and he began to simply try to outrun his own embarrassment and failure. How he could be defeated by his nemesis was unfathomable to him. True, 21 was more than he had been back on Spiderskull island, even he could see that, but no matter how you cut it 21 was still just a henchman while he had broken from the mold and had become so much more, his own entity. A man among henchmen.

He didn't see the root sticking out of the ground until after he had landed face first. He cursed to himself and scrambled to his feet, looking around. He was deep in the unknown wooded area lost and alone with his shame and failure, or so he thought.

Behind him somewhere a tree branch snapped, startling him.

"You're freaking yourself out over a squirrel." He thought to himself, more embarrassed than ever, turning back to the path he had made in his mad dash through the woods, "No wonder you were so easily defeated."

He was surprised to find standing in his back trail, silhouetted by the evening light, the figure of a man. The man seemed etched in stone but for a small deposit of fat around the waist. A full face mask, with old style goggles, mostly black, covered him. A body suit covered almost the rest of him save for his right arm with lines down the whole of the outfit breaking it into segments. A cloth embellished with a large black 'M' covered his left shoulder and both hands were covered by a different type of glove. A utility belt lay around his waist with a long dagger at each hip. Overall, though menacing, it seemed as if he were pieced together from different outfits. Something about him struck a memory deep in Scott's mind and he struggled to uncover it.

The man approached him not frightened until he stood directly in front of Scott.

His words fell from his mouth rather than flow from it. "Do you know who I am?"

Scott's eyes widened in disbelief as the memory that he had been searching for fell solidly in place.

"I see that you do. Say it!"

"You're Henchman. The avenging angel of henchmen." Scott blurted out shaking in his boots. He had to speak past his chattering teeth, "I always thought you were just a myth."

Henchman reached down to his sides and unclasped the daggers that rested upon his hips with a flick of his thumbs as he stepped forward in pace with Scott's cowering retreat, "I have been for quite some time now, but with people like you abusing the sacred order of the lackey and so many splinter groups appearing it seems that I can no longer rest in the shadows of the halls of legends anymore. Someone must always stand between those that lead and those that follow to hold the balance true. So long as there are henchmen, there shall be the Henchman."

Scott turned and, stumbling, made a mad dash into the brush hoping to escape his cruel though self-made fate. With a flick of the wrist the Henchman's daggers flew from their sheathes and into the air where they were caught deftly and directed with pin-point accuracy at their target. Without warning Scott was flung into a nearby tree, face first, and pinned to it by the blades of the Henchman's daggers.

His face in the bark as it was he couldn't look behind him and so the only warning that he gained of the Henchman's presence was the snap of a small twig nearby.

"Did you truly think that giving yourself an indivisible number would put you above the rest?" the Henchman asked from mere inches away, "All you did was gain my attention."

The calls of retreating birds made a chorus for Scott's anguish.

Back in the present at a seedy dive way out in the desert, far from anywhere, music blared and neon lights blinked on and off in irregular patterns. The air tasted sickly sweet of spilled drinks, cigarette smoke, and failure. It was the kind of place where every other step is made into a pool of liquid that you silently pray is an overturned beer, the bathroom door never quite closes all the way, something settles disturbingly to the bottom of the beer on tap, no barstools have an intact cover, and there is always an old man, way too many under the table to be served, nursing a drink and telling a total stranger his life story as they sit at the end of the bar.

Currently sitting at the bar, their legs dangling off their stools, were the murderous moppets, Tim-tom and Kevin, still dressed in their pupae outfits and watched the painfully slow and unsteady approach of an old man, half dressed in a late 60's henchman's outfit. As he shuffled forward he knocked down an empty chair and apologies to it, then berated his glass of whiskey for its lack or inability to warn him the chair was there.

"This is just sad," Kevin said over his beer, which was giant in his small hands, "and you know he's gonna come over here and try to talk to us."

Tim-tom took a sip of whatever he was drinking, it was toilet water blue with a slice of pineapple, cherries on sticks, and about four long bendy straws coming out of it, "Let him, I'm not going anywhere. I just got my drink."

"Should I just stab him?" Kevin asked pulling out a stiletto from seemingly nowhere, "I really want to stab him."

Tim-tom leaned back against the bar and watched the old man continue to make his way over, "If he opens his mouth, stab him."

Kevin turned back to Tim-tom, "We should save time and gut him now. What the hell are you drinking anyway?"

"Tropical wine cooler."

The old man finally stumbled his way up to the bar and held onto a stool for dear life before slowly wrestling his way on top of it. He looked down the bar at the Moppets, only a barstool away (simply stabbing distance) and eyed their outfits.

"Are you two real?" He slurred through heavily numb lips.

They looked at each other and then back at the old man.

"As real as the urine stains on your trousers, old timer."

The old man leaned back a ways and peered down at the stain, scratched it a bit, and turned back to them nodding in an exaggerated way, "Good, I thought I might have drank too much."

He took a slug of whiskey. Some of the brown liquid went in his mouth or ran down it, but most of it landed on his shirt and he tried vainly to suck it out of the material. That task complete he turned back to the Moppets with a raised eyebrow, "What are you supposed to be?"

"Larvae" Tim-tom said holding Kevin back."We're henchmen for the Monarch."

The old man took another clumsy gulp from his glass, "In my day henchmen uniforms were uncomplicated. Hell, I wore the same thing for three of the villains I worked for."

Tim-tom rolled his eyes, "That right?"

The old man crawled across the bar to the next stool, close enough for Tim-tom to get a good whiff. He couldn't decide which was worse: the smell of alcohol that poured from the guy's skin, or the bouquet of stale urine and B.O. Then the old man leaned in close and spoke.

"You wanna hear about it?" he asked conspiratorially.

"Oh my God!" Tim-tom exclaimed involuntarily, and tried to hold his breath. There is no way that someone could emit that kind of odor and still be alive. The old man didn't move an inch but just kept staring (and breathing) at Tim-tom. It was a more effective torture than he could even think of, and he would do anything to get the smelly old man away from him, but he had to cover his nose and mouth just to muffle the stench.

"Fine, fine, whatever you want."

The old man perked up and moved a few inches back, triumphantly he said, "Well' if you want me to talk, yer gonna have to buy me a drink."

"Anything! Whatever it takes to get you back in your seat." Tim-tom exclaimed gesturing to the seat that the old man had started in, farther down the bar.

The old man scooted back over and threw up two boney fingers to the barman, "Two doubles curtsey of the little guys over here."

He finished his drink and started talking, "The guild was still relatively new and super villiany was just starting to get popular. What with WWII over. There were all kinds of guys still hepped-up over the whole Nazi take-over-the -world thing. Their scientists had left tons of unfinished ideas and crazy weapons. You know the types: lightning rays, death rays, and doomsday devices. They were just lying around for anyone to pick up on a whim. That was if you had the money to do that sort of thing. Back in those days most of your super villians were just rich boy trust-fund types or the odd arm dealer with cash to spare and a decent plan to take over the world. Most of them just wore regular clothes with a gimmick but you could find, every now and again, find someone with more of a flair that put on a costume and follow a theme.

Worked for this one guy that called himself Henry the Evil. He wore fancy pants, tights, and a huge fur overcoat. He mostly went after the Catholic Church. He had an appetite for women though, went through them like most people do cars, anew one every three months.

Anyway, this was before the OSI really got into the game. The Ventures were at it though. I mean the old man and the geezer not the kid Rusty, but I got stories about him don't you know. The super villians started to recruit back in those days by appealing to all those that were trained as soldiers for the big war and either weren't done or hadn't fought at all. They would put ad in the papers that called for able bodied men to join up with private protection agencies that were supposes to be like work camps with lodging, meals, and a paycheck. Little did we know that we were getting all that in exchange for our undying loyalty and, usually, our lives.

They brought us in and gave us uniforms to wear. It was kind of like boot camp again. We were trained for weeks before we were even moved to the main facilities and once there they gave us our tasks. All of us the exact same. You could work next to a guy for years and never know his name. It was great.

The first villain I worked for was called Baron Terrible. A hideously ugly guy. A short guy with a prune for a face. Still it was a good job and instilled in me a love for the Hench life. That was until..."

Tim-Tom had only been half listening up to that point (Kevin was paying diligent attention to the bottom of his beer bottle) but had to look back up at the old guy. He looked on as the old drunk held the pause, creating suspense, until he realized that the old man wasn't going to continue because he'd simply forgotten that he'd been talking.

"Until, what!" Tim-Tom nearly screamed at the old timer to wake up his drink addled mind.

"Huh?" The old man took a second to shift his eyes down to where Tim-Tom sat, "Until?"

Tim-Tom sighed, "What happened to Baron Terrible?"

The old henchman blinked, "You don't know? The Henchman got him. He got a lot of them back in those days."

Tim-Tom, exasperated, pushed aside his unfinished drink and threw up his hands, "Okay, I've had enough of this. The Henchman is a myth and you're senile old man."

"Let's go Kevin." Tim-Tom said slapping the other man and hopping to the ground.

"Who the hell is the Henchman?" Kevin asked as they walked away.

"The Henchman is like the super vilian version of Bigfoot. No one I've met has ever actually seen him. Never even seen a picture of him. The story goes that he was a henchman for some small time villain that treated his henchman like crap and he had too much of it, so he turned on the villain taking him out. Ever since he goes around serving as judge, jury, and executioner for the little guy both hero and villain." Tim-Tom explained as he approached the door, "But as I said before it's just a ledged for disgruntled henchmen to hide behind."

As they got to the door it opened and in walked a man in an overcoat and hat. Tim-Tom slipped past the man but Kevin slipped out a knife and cracked a smile.

"Aw yeah! I've been in a bad mood the whole the time I've been here and I think that you're gonna solve that when I stab you."

The man in the overcoat stopped and knelt down menacingly. Kevin smile cracked as the man leaned in close. He tipped his hat up allowing his ruby colored goggles to catch the light.

The deep distorted voice fell from the facemask, "Boo."

Kevin shook in his boots paralyzed with fear until Tim-Tom, noticing the other short man was not with him, called back to him, "Hey, Kevin, stop messing around. Let's go."

An hour later, after the moppets left, the overcoat clad man walked out again. He left the bar a mess of bloody corpses and body parts.

(Final note: I realize that this chapter has jumped around quite a bit and that I took liberties with Scott (Zero) but as his fate is not clearly defined in 'Every which way but Zeus' I felt it was safe to do so and still stay in canon. With most of the characters in play and the back story set the adventure begins in full. From this point on things begin to speed up. Hope that you enjoyed this chapter and that this story is as fun to read as it is to write.

I would like to apologize for the slowness in my uploading. I am not a very fast typist and with my work schedule the way it is I am even more delayed. I will get chapters out as fast as I can.)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

(Author's note: Everything is starting to come together now and soon Henchman 21 will begin to set things in motion. He will build things up to a crescendo and hopefully surprise and delight you. This chapter will introduce more characters from the series but only some of them will come into play while others will only be red herrings to draw your attention away from the true plot that is developing. There is some more skipping about from scene to scene but all of it is constrained to the present, for now. Buckle up for this chapter as you join the cast of the Venture brothers.

I still don't own the any of the Venture brothers' characters or related material.)

21 stood before the remaining butterfly henchmen in the theater the used as a planning and debriefing room. Behind him, on a telescreen, satellite surveillance photos of Incredible Plaza which flipped through different views and different distances. He felt somewhat embarrassed, even though he had done this many times before, by the way all the eyes were fixed on him. He noticed the Monarch and Dr Mrs. monarch standing near the door and he steadied himself.

He cleared his throat and began, "This gentlemen, and lady is our target. Incredible Plaza; which serves as the secret home of the Revenge Society is secluded from the other buildings surrounding it by the small park that it is nestled in. Inside lays a mysterious warren of hallways and rooms which could hold any number of personnel and weaponry. While it is secluded from the buildings surrounding it is however in the heart of the city, which rules out a daylight attack, but because the membership of the revenge society includes such villains as Dr. Incredible, Phantom Limb, and Verner Underbite, a small tactical force will not be sufficient. This leaves only a night raid in the cocoon.

A small force will touch down on the helipad on top of the building in the Monarch mobile; here, " He used a laser pointer as he spoke to mark the locations on the satellite photo, "They will block off an aerial escape while the cocoon moves into position in the plaza and all available troops will move into the building through the four main entrances on the ground floor. Once they clear the ground floor they will move up the building, securing each successive floor as they go. Meanwhile the smaller force will begin to work their way downward. Phantom limb will be flushed, as the ground forces move up, directly into the hands of the tactical force. When the smoke clears we will have wiped the revenge society from the face of the earth."

Behind him the screen went blank and a yell went up from the gathered henchmen. 21 walked away as it continued unabated and approached the monarch.

Dr. Mrs. Monarch, her arms crossed over her ample chest, summed up their response in a single word, "Impressive."

That enough confirmation of their success for him, the Monarch pumped his fists in the air with all the enthusiasm he could muster, "We attack at sunset!"

21 tightened his fists at his sides and forced himself to un-bunch his fingers, "No."

The Monarch put a boney finger in his face, 21 wondered what it would sound like if he were to snap it, and let specks of spittle fly, "You worm! How dare you defy me! You're already on thin ice with me after the shit you pulled. Make it happen!"

Dr. Mrs. Monarch lowered the Monarch's outstretched arm, "No, honey, 21's right. This is a big operation. We need to make sure that we are ready for it."

The Monarch turned on her, "You're taking his side?"

"We need to recruit more troops," 21 said, jumping in before the Monarch could continue, "And we need more Intel. Before he went into the super villain racket Dr. Incredible had quite a few classified government contracts, so the whole building is classified. You can't find the blueprints anywhere, but I have a man who can get inside. I just need some time to get everything ready."

The Monarch scrutinized 21's face and turned away in disgust, "Fine. You have a week to get ready. Do not fail me!"

With a flourish he walked out of the room. After a last look back at 21 his wife followed.

"White!" Billy Quizboy, the diminutive genius whose IQ matched his hat measurements, called from the back of the Silver bullet style motor home that he share with his hetro-lifemate, the albino Peter White, "Have you seen my lab coat?"

Things were going well for him and White. He was now Dr. Billy Quizboy, having used the credentials given to him by the Investors [along with what was left of the money that they had been given] to get into Medical school, which he had breezed through in only a few months. He was now a legitimate physician and surgeon at the same hospital that he had used falsified documents to work at. They had been more than understanding, due mostly to his surgical prowess, though there were still some legal issues that were being sorted out. He was just happy to be getting a steady paycheck.

Even Conjectural Technologies, his and white's business, was having some success. White's love of video games and technology background (along with his sloth) and Billy's neuroscience background had blended together, over one too many beers and a playlist that read like a whose nobody of the 80's, to produce a design for a functional and easy to use neural remote cap. This device, when fitted to the head, would function like a remote control that was tuned seamlessly with the wearer's brain activity without having to be physically inserted into the brain. White wanted to use it as a video game controller but Billy had immediately called medical supply companies touting it as a miracle for paraplegics. Three companies had already bought into the idea after taking a look at the schematics and five others were waiting on a working prototype. They were working on this in their secret lab when ever Billy could get white off the couch to help.

The real kicker, the cherry on the cake, was that the OSI had given him a new eye. It was an apology of sorts for all the tinkering that they had done. He had been skeptical at first but they had assured him that the new eye wasn't like the last one they had given him which had been a 3d laser recording device. This one was an old fashion eye.

Billy began to search around the trailer for White, not getting a response to his cry. He couldn't find him anywhere in the trailer but it didn't take much to realize that. The trailer was empty but attached to the door was an adhesive note in White's hand.

'Gone for Fun ions' was all the note had to say.

"Helpful'" Billy told the note. Then he saw his lab coat. It had been stuffed and wadded under a cushion of the beaten up old couch from which White played his games. "Oh, damn it White!"

A few miles away, at the venture compound, a sprawling area filled with sprawls of wilderness and several complexes at distances from each other, more of an industrial complex than a home, Dr. Thaddeus Venture sat with Sgt. Hatred at the table in the dinning room/ kitchenette of the main building. Sgt. Hatred was noisily munching on an overstuffed sandwich. His loud and messy chewing was quickly covering his edge of the table with crumbs and bits of food. Dr. Venture looked on in disgust and gingerly flicked a partially chewed bit of sandwich away from him.

"The OSI has brought Brock back as our bodyguard, we haven't seen the Monarch in months, and you've reconciled with your wife," He was saying.

"Mm-hum" Sgt. Hatred said around his sandwich, "Things have never been better."

"Why are you still here!" Dr. Venture screamed in frustration.

Sgt. Hatred shrugged, still chewing, "The missus and I still have a few things to work out."

"I've noticed," Dr. Venture said with a shiver, " and I don't think that I would mind so much if I hadn't caught you two having sex in my bed."

Sgt. Hatred shrugged, all grins, "My precious little flower has a wild streak."

"I was sleeping in it at the time!"

Dr. Venture slammed his bald palette into the table and wrapped his head in his hands as if trying to hide from the memory. After a few seconds, his head still on the table, he spoke again, "That image is now on the top 20 things I wish I could forget. Your naked thrashing body will haunt me until the day I die."

Sgt. Hatred patted his ample gut proudly, "Old Hatred's not the spring chicken he once was but I can still pound one out."

"Oh, God, stop reminding me" Dr. Venture shrieked, shuttering again, "I want you out. Move back to your place in Malice or get a hotel room or whatever, but I want you out of here before you and princess tiny feet are having sex on the boys' sleeping pods."

Sgt. Hatred pulled guiltily on his collar.

"You didn't." Dr. Venture replied with a surprising amount of outrage.

"Well," Sgt. Hatred stammered, "It's not like the pods were open or anything."

Dr. Venture pointed to the door, "Get out! Get out now!"

(Final comments: I am one of those guys that still have to write things out long hand before transferring to the computer and this chapter marks the end of the part of the story contained in my first notebook. I had thought that it would be a short piece comprised of maybe one or two lengthy chapters but as I got to the end of this part of the story I realized that I be bringing in quite a few side stories and the scene would change back and forth as I added more layers to the intrigue that leads up to 21's plan actually being set into motion. So from here on in I have dedicated a notebook just to this story alone. I still feel that this will be a rather short piece of maybe six chapters. Hope you have enjoyed it so far, and please leave me a review to let me know what you think. Twists and turns are coming and I even did something I told myself I wouldn't do. See my shame and watch me stretch canon as far as it will go in the coming chapters. Enjoy.

PS The Henchman will make a reappearance in the coming chapters.)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

[Author's notes: So the scene has been set and we head on toward the inevitable. Traps will be laid and the puzzle pieces will be set out to be seen. Will you figure it out before I finish this tale or will I surprise and amaze you with the end which is already set in stone. Starting in this chapter I will begin toss references in my final notes to pin point where I pull my material. I think that you will be forced to look at the Venture Brothers series in a whole new light once I am done.

Be prepared dear reader for the twists and turns that this chapter will take. Pay close attention and you might just unravel 21's plan.]

21 sat in his favorite corner booth of the bar that he had set up in the cocoon. A place where the henchmen could gather after battle or during down time and share a drink or a laugh and forget how miserable and disposable their lives were. It was the only concession that he had received from the Monarch when he had originally returned to service following the death of 24.

The results had been immediate. The newfound sense of togetherness (would it be too corny to say family?) made the rag tag group of henchmen into a band of brothers; though it did nothing to increase their ability to fight. With the change of mentality and under his careful tutelage he molded the mass of bodies into squadrons of soldiers in service to the Monarch. The sense of camaraderie made them easy to train. Sure, none of them would be able to take on an OSI agent or even a guild blackguard but compared to what they had been; they became hardened warriors.

It was after hours and even though the bar had long ago stopped serving 21 threw back shots of whiskey form the bottle on the table and nursed a third beer as he tried desperately to clear his troubled mind. There had been a time when he had talked out his troubles with his friend Henchman 24, alive and then spectral, but he had lain his friend to rest and regaled his spirit to the land of wish fulfillment. Lately he had taken to drinking like a fish to water, but it didn't help him the way 24 had. It just left him with regret weighing heavy on his soul and a bad taste in his mouth the next day.

He looked over at the other glass on the table. It sat across from him and he watched as a bead of condensation traveled down the slender neck of the glass to join its brothers in a pool below it. He was reminded of himself. He had tried to use the bubbling turmoil inside himself to fuel his new fitness kick and his preparations but they grew faster than he could manage to feed on them. The feelings bubbled and ran over inside of him, finally pooling in the depth of his soul like a deep dark well of hate, anger, self-loathing, depression, and pity. Lots of things, it seemed, became philosophical metaphors for him self when he was drinking.

The sad thing was that he hadn't even planned to drink, but when he had arrived, already after hours, and let himself in with the spare set of keys that he had hidden in a desk drawer; He simply couldn't stop himself. Not to say that he was an alcoholic. He had ample time and means to drink himself to death, but he had kept himself to a few beers a night and maybe the odd binge on a weekend when things really got him down. Those were usually the weeks when he received checks for 'The Flight of the Monarch'. A joke at first, the book had become a cult favorite. Its success was divided equally between his self and 24's father (though he didn't know what the money was for he spent it quickly enough). It led 21 to try a second time and the resulting 'Hench Life' saw moderate success. This money he had used to buy a house for his folks, move them to Florida, take over their single story suburban, and build his new outfit. None of that had brought him happiness and that was part of why he drank now, because he had found happiness here, once long ago, back when it was a rec room style lounge with coin operated vending machines and rat eaten couches where he and 24 had played Tekken 3.

"Your drink is a little warm." 21 said as he poured another shot, not looking up from it.

"I wasn't sure I was going to come." The familiar deep timber came creeping out of a small opening between a pulled down fedora and an upturned trench coat collar. Still he knew who she was before she spoke or flashed her alabaster skin as she slid into the booth across from him. He had smelled her perfume, as light as it was, when she had crept in the room.

This wasn't the first time they had met like this. Over the years there had been time when he would come to her for help or more recently she would come to him. Now they were here as themselves, no favors to ask or to give.

"The Moppets just got back and had to be debriefed, and of course I had to wait for the Monarch to fall to sleep."

"Of course."

"And I didn't know if you would show up. It's not like the last time we met up here. The whole Butterglider thing."

21 chuckled a little, "Did anyone ever tell him how much that thing made him look like the Green Goblin?"

"Who?"

"Spiderman villain; never mind."

"Oh."

She took a sip of her drink and sighed. She leaned over and the oversized hat almost touched the table.

"How did you know that I would show up?" She asked.

21 shrugged, "A hunch. I knew that you would have some questions. Questions that you probably wouldn't want to ask in front of your husband and you wouldn't want anyone to see us together, at least at this point, which means just going to my room was out of the question, as was setting up a rendezvous, but you knew how hard I fought for this place and how much I enjoyed it so I would come here soon. Of course after seeing the reception I got, and knowing that I would always be alone when I am here, you figured I wouldn't come during normal hours because I would be swarmed. So that leaves us here, and now."

She was taken aback, "You really thought this through."

21 slammed back another shot and filled the glass back up, "Na, just a hunch. Maybe you should ask before we run out of time."

"Or I'm out of whiskey." He said shaking the half empty bottle.

"What happened to you?" she asked genuine concern in her voice.

He looked at her for the first time since she sat down, the anger in his eyes, somehow magnified by the red tint of his goggles frightened her, "I made a normal life for myself and found out that I didn't fit in it."

He bit back tears of rage and despair, and went to take a sip of his beer but put the bottle back down un-drunk. He let out a sigh that left him empty from the pit of his soul. It was the last three months of his life.

"All I could think about was this life," He stretched the truth, and gestured about him, "Compared to that lawn work and paying bills just didn't satisfy me. Dressing up in a costume and fighting other guys in costumes is all I'm good at. It's all I know. I tried to go back to LARPing but it just wasn't enough. There wasn't any real danger. So I took martial arts classes at the annex and tried cage fighting but they didn't allow costumes. Eventually all that was left was this life."

Once again he gestured around the empty room.

Gently she slipped her hands under his mask, he thought about pulling away but dispite everything (even himself) he loved the way that her soft hands felt on his unshaven cheeks, and slowly removed it. It fell to the table and he ran his hand over his long ponytail to straighten it.

"Gary, why did you come back?" She asked looking into his eyes.

He did turn away then, "Do you want me to say I came back for you?"

Shocked, she gasped. She was surprised by the suddenness and directness of his response, but after a moment answered quietly and honestly, "Well, yeah."

He turned back to look at her, genuinely confused.

She turned slightly away from him, "Don't read too much into that, I am a girl after all."

"Okay. Definitely liking the honesty."

"Would you believe that I didn't mean to hurt you?"

"No. There are a lot of things that I believe but not that. Not after you jumped on the band wagon, as quick as you did, when the Monarch started off on his tirade."

I'm sorry!"

Gary turned away again but she gently turned him back to her, "I really am sorry. It wasn't right what we did to you and I regret it, but he's my husband and I have to support him no matter how stupid or thankless he is. You know that better than anyone. I was surprised and flattered by your confession, and more than a little sad but as long as we're in this racket things are the way they are."

"Shelia, I..."

Her eyes went wide and she covered her mouth and talked through her hand, "You know my name?"

Gary pulled her hand away from her mouth, "of course I do, I know everything about you. Plus Phantom Limb said it like a million times."

She wanted to cover her face again but Gary held it to the table.

"Yes, I do but to hear you say it the way you did was too much for me. It was like having my heart curb checked. I couldn't take it. Frankly I stopped listening after that. I was done."

She gripped his hand in hers, "I know; I saw the look in your eyes. I think my heart died a little too."

They sat in silence for a moment studying their hands and thinking of how the past effected the present.

"Gary, you never answered my question. Why did you come back here? Any guild member, the Revenge Society, or even the OSI would have been glad to have you, especially now," She paused to caress a well toned arm, "You look fantastic by the way."

He mumbled a 'Thank you' into his beer.

"So, after all of that, why did you come back to the Monarch?"

He sighed again and tried to formulate the truest generic answer that he could, "Right now, it's where I need to be."

"I understand." She checked her watch, half past four in the morning already, "I... have to go."

She took off her hat and, leaning in close to him, she kissed him softly on the cheek. She stayed close to him and he began to feel intoxicated by her perfume, far more than the whiskey had been able to accomplish.

"Don't do anything stupid." She whispered in his ear and slid out of the booth.

He stopped her as she had almost reached the door, and grabbed her arm, near the elbow, "Shelia wait!"

She turned back to him pleading with her eyes, "Please don't call me Shelia in public. I don't want there to be any more awkwardness than there already is."

In a fit of passion that he didn't know that he had in him or maybe it was just the whiskey; he turned her around to face him grasping both her arms. "I need you to know that I love you, I do, and as much as it hurts me or whatever I may do I love you. As much as I try not to love you it is more powerful than that and love is not for today or tomorrow, but for now and forever."

He kissed her hard and the passion of the moment and the surprise of the kiss melted her to him in a way that he had not even known that he had longed for. She kissed him back with a surprising passion all her own, but, while the moment was sweet, it wasn't long and she pulled away from him. Her face was drained of all blood and he let her go.

Tears began to stream down her face, and she weakly pounded at his chest, "How could you do this to me?"

She ran from the room, stifling her tears with her oversized hat, and Gary was left alone in the dark room.

From the deep recesses of his mind a familiar voice spoke up.

"Smooth move Exlax."

The next morning saw Brock Samson, all 6ft 5 inches and 280lbs of him, hanging from a cliff face like an oddly shaped wind chime. It wasn't terribly early, nearly 10am, and he was halfway down from the road where he had parked his car. He had no ropes or climbing gear and was picking his way down carefully, searching for hand and foot holds. This was his way. Do not think; just act. The confidence that he felt in his own abilities was all that he needed for protection. Still, it was a very physically draining task and sweat poured off of him in rivulets and dampened his hair.

Sure, he could have traveled through the valley between the cliffs but he had already put this off for months and doing it this way he could hardly turn back, and leave the task undone.

He felt his feet touch the gravel valley floor, and he brushed his hands off on his pants and sighed.

What was left of the limo was mostly a tangled mass of metal. There were chunks of the midsection scattered about the valley floor from where the gas tank had exploded on impact and the rear wheels were missing. That wasn't a surprise though because the Alchemist had turned the back wheels to gold. The rear door had been torn from its hinges somehow and lay a few feet away, which did surprise Brock. He went over to check it out.

From the way that the hinges were torn, he could determine that the pressure that was applied to the door came from the inside. That was worrisome but he couldn't jump to conclusions until he had done a thorough inspection. So he climbed inside and quickly found what he had really been looking for. The smell was the first indicator, so he wasn't surprised to find, wedged between a front and rear seat, the corpse. Months of insect activity had stolen away her stark beauty and flawless grace in a way that years of the life of a spy hadn't been able to. Her black cat-suit had been torn and some animal, probably a coyote, had taken both foot and boot from her right leg. Brock reached out and stroked what was left of her red hair.

"Molotov," He whispered her name, his voice resonating in the confined space, "How could he leave you like this?"

Carefully he tore away the seats and her, all too light, corpse fell into his waiting arms. Despite the smell, he cradled her to his chest as he picked his way back out of the wreckage.

Hours later, he placed the last pile of dirt and gravel on top of the grave he had dug, using the torn off door as a spade, and finally draped her heart shaped eye patch across a corner of the cross he had fashioned. Not a very religious man Brock knelt down and lost himself in memories. Soon the moment passed and Brock, sorely, stood again brushing off his knees. Sorrow and anger swirled about inside him vying for possession of his emotions, but duty came first.

Starting from the limo, he went about looking for the minute traces of a trail. Brock found it, as he knew that he would, and followed the shambling path that the other had taken along the canyon valley until it disappeared into the small stream that ran along the middle. He travelled down it for a few more miles, hoping against hope, that there would be a point where he could pick it up on the other side. Eventually he had to give up and make his way back.

Standing over the makeshift grave again, the sun beginning to dip down over the horizon, he felt drained. He had hoped, in his heart of hearts, that he would find the huge remains of Monstroso and that Molotov Cocktease would be nowhere to find, or at worse the limo would be empty. He was disappointed and far sadder than he had thought he would be, but over the grave that he had dug for her, he vowed that he would find the colossal piece of trash that had left her there and make him pay.

"Why couldn't you have settled for me?" He asked the cold ground. So, unable to find a suitable answer, he knew that there was only one thing for him to do, and that involved climbing back up the nearly sheer cliff face. Once again stone-faced, he pulled out his knife. As drained as he was he would need all the help he could get.

[Final thoughts: Okay. I realize that I have made somewhat of a leap here with 21 and Dr. Girlfriend. I postulate a mutual attraction that built up throughout season four. Everyone knows that 21 has the hots for Dr. Girlfriend, but if you go back and watch there are key moments, outside of the kiss in 'Assisted Suicide' that point to a growing attraction towards 21, right up to the events of 'Operation: Prom'. Starting with a budding concern she shows towards him in 'Return to Malice' which starts with a conversation about his mental state and the loss he feels at the death of 24. Later in that same episode her actions show, by directing Dr. Venture and Sgt. Hatred away from her home, concern towards her husband and keeping him out of trouble, but as he was not involved, why should she do this? Why would she also keep the Monarch form going to the Cocoon? Were he to go to the Cocoon he might have become involved in the plot that 21 had cooked up, 21 presumably being at the Cocoon. One of these actions doesn't fit into the scenario. Her actions show a concern for both her husband and 21. She could simply have ratted 21 out or confronted him and it would have saved the Monarch embarrassment and possible involvement. He is, after all, a henchman and, as such, expendable.

Later in 'The Diving Bell Vs. The Butterglider' as 21 gives his speech her expression is one of almost awe as he rattles off his ideas, until he reaches past the realm of possibility. As in that episode when she confronts him in the lounge, she makes references to his physical appearance saying "I've noticed". Not much in itself but compiled with the rest it is given more weight. She also seems genuinely surprised in his interest in her when he says that he knows her favorite drink.

In the episode 'Assisted Suicide' there is much to lead one farther down this train of thought. Carefully watch her expressions as they converse. They share common interests, 21 and Dr. Girlfriend, which both seem to find surprising and they are far more interested in their conversation than they are concerned about the Monarch's welfare. When he postulates that she could find someone better she blows it off as an impossibility and there is a hint of sadness in her look. Then when 21 does kiss her it takes her only a second to kiss him back. When the Monarch does wake up her look is one of guilt. Later in 'Operation: Prom' the Monarch blows this off saying that they have an 'open relationship', which makes one wonder why she felt guilty.

Tracking back a bit, in the episode 'Pinstripes and Poltergeists', two more pieces are piled onto the board. They are small and barely worth notice, unless you are looking for them. Dr. Girlfriend, quite unnecessarily makes sure to lean in front of 21. She doesn't have any real reason to do this. She could have leaned on the consol panel or looked at it over his shoulder, but she purposefully puts an arm over his chair and leans down, which puts her ample bosom directly in his face. Then when 21 goes to attack Monstroso, we see Dr. Girlfriend lash out at her moppets for the first time, and depending on how you look at it only time, when they try to get 21 in trouble. Again she is shown defending 21 while in the guise of something else.

The most damning evidence is in 'Operation: Prom', which I watched through again and again because it can easily be missed and it made me re-watch the rest of season four to check for other signs because it was so out of place. Earlier in the episode Dr. Girlfriend makes a small effort to stop the Monarch from going after 21 but to no avail, which is not surprising because following him would mean heading to the Venture's front door but could be more when looked at through the prism of events already laid out, then if you pay attention to her face during the interchange between the Monarch and 21, a hard task as the Monarch kind of steals one's attention, her face goes from surprise to contemplation to sadness before the Monarch physically pulls her into the conversation and she takes on a kind of bemused look.

While I am willing to admit that all of this could simply be animators having fun and undertones that were not intentional due to writing and performance, and that I'm even seeing more than is there, but it makes a solid case for where I have taken this story, and allows me to explain it away within canon.

I hope that you have enjoyed it so far, please continue to read, and let me know what you think.]


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

(Author's note: I don't own the Venture Brothers or any of the related materials.

This chapter is much later than I had hoped due to equipment malfunction. I had bought a tablet computer so that I could type at work and increase my productivity but it has gone down and so I have to go back to typing at home in the few hours I get to myself. This slows me down considerably. On the other side I have packed this chapter full of stuff and hope that I've made it worth the wait. The story will be a little more fast-paced as everything is drawing quickly to a head and more will be revealed as to what Henchman 21 has planned.

I had originally set out with a few ideas for this story, most of which are played out, but one was to be that 24 wouldn't show up. I have broke that idea in this chapter but I think that it came out well and will play into the story as a whole more importantly than I had thought. I hope you enjoy this chapter and the story as a whole. Please continue to read and please let me know what you think.)

The day had been grueling. He had triggered the alarm system on the cocoon at 6 am, even though that had only allowed him about an hour of sleep, and he had waited. After the first hour only half of the cocoon's load of henchmen had made it to their battle stations, and they were mostly bleary-eyed with sleep; some only half-dressed. He sent these back to their quarters to get dressed and after another hour, once they had returned, he took a small group of men with him, the most able, and searched the cocoon room by room for those henchmen still in their beds. By 10 am he had the entire cocoon at battle station and began to run drills. They did combat simulations, flight simulations, invasion simulations, and battle formation drills.

They cut out for lunch at 2pm and, checking the list he had made earlier, he broke the Henchmen into groups. Those that had shown up prepared when he set off the alarms were given light duty (cleaning and Mess hall duties), those that had shown up but weren't prepared were given hard latrine duties (bathroom and shower duties), and those that he had found in their beds were split into two groups: One was given garden duty, and the other was sent out to gather supplies (using 21's own money as he knew that the Monarch would be too cheap to fund the project) , and begin construction on the new training ground he had devised the previous day. With the other Henchmen set to their tasks, 21 went about the cocoon doing what he needed to do. He went through the craft searching for changes and improvements. As he had expected nothing had changed. In fact, it was worse than it had been move or less neglected in his absence. Cobwebs covered most of the engine room, and some of the wires and pipes were repaired with tape; electrical, duct, or other. He continued checking every floor as he went up and found the same on most. The only places that were actually showed care and consideration in upkeep were: the Monarch's bedroom, the mess hall, the lounge, the control center, and his room. In other words, all the places the Monarch might see. He sighed as he marked things down that would need to be repaired, not because he thought anything about the extent of the repairs, but because the task was tiresome, boring, and a waste of time.

He had, even in the short time he had been back, already gotten everything ready that he had needed to, but, he continued to remind himself, even these repairs were part of the whole thing, and it had to be done. The training and preparation of the henchmen was a different matter. That was vital. Whatever his own plans he had worked with most of these guys and with what they were up against he wanted to make sure they could take it. He didn't want to see them get killed if he could help it. What he had planned for the rest of the week was even worse, but, even if they began to hate him now, it would be worth it.

The list complete, he stopped off at his room and sent out an email. Then he typed out a list of supplies needed for the repairs on the cocoon, and, after thinking of the prices and what he might be able to rig up from other things, amended it. With the printout in hand he found a random henchman, someone who joined the Monarch after he left, and gave it to him to currier to the Monarch. He didn't expect to see the man again but he hoped to get at least some of the supplies on the list.

By then it was 6pm and he figured that he had done enough for one day. He went to the command center and got onto the intercom.

"Listen up scrubs, knock off but don't expect tomorrow to be any better. Get your rest 'cause you're gonna need it."

He liked it; sounded tough. He was sitting at his old station and he hadn't even realized it. Quickly he stood up and vacated the room. He nearly ran right into another henchman standing just outside of the door. Already upset by the turmoil he felt anytime he began to get nostalgic about being back, he grumbled a simple 'sorry' and began to make his way past.

"Not even a hello for an old buddy?" came a reply, from a voice that sounded eerily like Ray Ramono.

21 stopped dead in his tracks.

"Oh God."

He turned and stared at 24. He walked around him and was about to reach out and poke at him before he caught himself. Putting a hand to his own face, 21 covered his eyes.

Head hung low and eyes still covered, he spoke to the apparition, "Please tell me we are not going to go through this again?"

24 cocked his head and shrugged, "How should I know? Besides out of the two of us, it is you that doesn't belong here. You're not a henchman anymore."

"Okay," 21 said, mostly to himself, "Being back, and all the baggage that goes with that, has caused me to have a minor psychotic break, and I've brought you back to help me deal with all the issues without giving into insanity."

"Yeah or when you decided I was a bothersome spirit I left to haunt the cocoon, which would at least be entertaining." 24 countered.

21 looked at his incorporeal friend oddly, "Why do you have to complicate things?"

24 crossed his arms over his chest, "Oh right, and me being a symptom of your mental illness isn't complicating?"

"Look, I can't take this I've got to go."

"You're gonna go drink?"

21, who had already turned to leave, turned back and was already about to say something when 24 cut him off.

"Before you start spouting off about how you're a 'Big Boy'. I meant; are you going to drink or are you going to wait, Hemmingway?"

"Oh, God!" 21 hung his head again, "That **was **you? I hoped it was my imagination."

"That's what you think I am anyway, so what's the difference?" 24 reminded him.

"Point; So what if I am?" 21 said defensively, "I can make my own decisions."

"She's not gonna show up. Not after last night."

"So?" 21 said, this was all making him very tired, but he didn't want to show it, so he leaned nonchalantly on the wall, "It's not like I really thought she would anyway."

"All the things you're done to change yourself. The quitting, the writing, the training, the weight loss, and for what? You're back in uniform, back in the cocoon, and pinning over Dr. Girlfriend." 24 walked over and stared into 21's eyes, "Have you really changed at all?"

He couldn't argue. The ghost of 24, or whatever he was, was right. He was doing all the things that he had done as a henchman. He had thought that he had turned things around in some sense, but had he? Was he ever going to break out of this mold?

There was nothing he could say, and now he was aching for a drink, so he simply walked away.

"Don't think of popping back up later tonight. I want to be alone." He said without turning back.

"Why? Are you going to go masturbate?" 24 yelled down the corridor at him.

He cringed, even though he knew no one else could hear.

Paying no attention to the bartender 21 simply grabbed the first bottle he could see his hands on under the counter and a Tom Collin's glass. The lounge was packed with henchmen in their butterfly-themed outfits but they stepped aside as they saw him coming. The three that had taken his booth, when there was no other place to sit, scurried over each other to get out when he sat down.

The first glassful (of what turned out to be Grey Goose Vodka) was gone almost before he realized he had poured it, and the second almost met the first on its way down. He didn't really like vodka, unless it was in a Martini because James Bond drank Martinis, but it was something and what he needed now was something. It had only been half a bottle, anyway, and he hoped it would be enough.

He slowed down after the fourth glass. The first two had finally kicked in when they noticed the place was getting kind of crowded. Even so, vodka isn't something that you sip; he put the glass down in even gulps as slow as he could.

His nerves had moved back from the edge, but his senses were not even slightly dulled, and he knew he had company by the slight pressure that travelled the length of the booth from the opposite side. He couldn't help himself but get his hopes up for a second, even though he knew good and well that it wasn't her.

"Look who's back, Kevin." Tim-tom said as he slid in farther along the bench getting close to 21, "Well, if it ain't 'General' 21 'emself."

The two burst out in laughter.

21 threw them a stone cold look," I'm not in the mood."

"Oooo, look who's all scary, scary." Kevin said to Tim-tom.

More laughter.

"Are you gonna go all crazy again like last time?" Tim-tom snickered.

21 thumped one of his arms onto the table. His loosely bunched fingers lay just in front of Tim-tom's bottle of beer, lightly touching the cool glass. There was a flash of steel as he quickly shot out the blade from his glove and retracted it again. The Moppets watched as their bottles slid apart; cleanly sliced in two.

In their silence he leaned forward and spoke in a hushed tone, "If I do, I'll kill you two first."

They slid out of the booth and left him to his solitude

When they had retreated a safe distance form the booth Tim-tom looked back, "Kevin, I think we may have waited too long to get that one."

Kevin wasn't paying him any attention. His eye had been caught by the glint of a pair of goggles over by the bar. The goggles were on someone wearing a trench coat and hat. He couldn't be sure but he thought the person looked familiar.

"Hey, Tim-tom I think that's the guy from the bar the other night." Kevin said, patting Tim-tom on the shoulder to get his attention.

"Not the old man, is it?" Tim-tom asked, looking around quickly, "I know that the Monarch is desperate, but that's ridiculous."

"No, No, God no. When we were leaving there was this guy walking in with a mask on with goggles. I think he's at the bar."

Tim-tom tried to look at the bar, but another group of henchmen had walked over and were obscuring the bar.

"Can't see nuthin'. Are you sure?"

"I don't know. I think so."

Tim-tom shrugged and started walking away, hoping they could find someone to torment for replacement drinks, "Can't be too important. Probably just some super villain looking for a night cap."

"Yeah, maybe." Kevin agreed, not so sure.

About an hour later having finished the bottle, it had only been half full when he had grabbed it, 21 got up and made his way more or less steadily to the door. He didn't notice the trench coated figure that followed him out. He also didn't notice when the figure followed him to the showers and locked the door.

In the locker room-style shower 21 removed his costume piece by piece. It always had felt to him like birth. Every time he took it off he was born again as Gary, regular guy, and when he donned it again he was wrapped back up in the life of 21, the lead henchman. Putting it on or taking it off always gave some part of himself relief while some other part of himself cringed in pain.

Naked, save for a towel draped across his shoulder, he walked into the group shower area and turned on one of the shower heads, waiting for the water to get hot. When steam began to rise from the tiled floor he stepped into the water and let it cascade over him, taking with it the day, the alcohol, and the disappointment. He turned around and let the water hit his back. It felt to him like small, soft, warm hands were traveling up his back towards his shoulders. The feeling traveled across his back and around to his chest.

When he opened his eyes she kissed him. They didn't talk but they communicated. Their bodies fell into each other and it was good. Sneaking down the corridor they made it to his room, and blessed the cool clean sheets.

She was soft and sweet.

He was considerate, responsive, and insatiable.

They drank deeply of each other's passions, and he wasn't surprised to find her gone when he woke up at 4am.

Gary might have simply wrote it off as a beautiful dream, but the sweet smell of her clung to the pillows and sheets, and the tell tale stiffness in his joints. And the note.

It seemed to say so much even though it said so little.

What it said was this: I'm sorry. –S

He flipped it over to make sure there was nothing else, but, as he had thought, the rest of the paper was empty. What it truly meant was a mystery, for no other reason than that he could still feel the kiss she had planted on his lips before she had left.

Slowly he sat up, savoring the bitter sweet moment, and noticed the second note taped so that it hung down from the top of the alcove facing him. It had been placed so that he would be sure to see it as he sat up, like he was now. It was even more confusing to him than the first note had been.

It read: I am watching.

It was signed with a stylized "H" which was unmistakably an insignia of some kind, but he didn't recognize it. He made a mental note to research it when he got the chance, but now wasn't the time. He hated the thought but he had to make his way back to the shower and wash the smell of her off of him. All of Gary had to die so that he could bring Henchman 21 back to life.

(Final thoughts: The discussion that 21 and 24 have is biased in all of the previous discussions that have shown up in season 4 on the subject and the Moppets are the most likely candidates for responsibility for the death of 24. They were the ones that were trying to push 21 over the edge as seen in 'Operation: Prom' and they are the only characters missing during the big battle at the end of 'The Family that Slays Together, Stays Together". That combined with their actions in season 3 make it clear that they wanted to do away with 21 and 24. Everything else is built upon what I have already postulated.)


End file.
